Fading
by Kiri
Summary: Meryl and Vash say goodbye. Angsty goodness.


**Fading**

Your eyes aren't on me. You face toward the north window, toward the garden we planted and tended together, that blossomed at your touch. Your right hand rests lightly on the windowsill, dying sunlight leaking onto your fair skin. 

I know it's over. 

You want to apologize, I'm sure, but we both know that it's no one's fault. Long ago, I accepted this, and waited for this day to come. I knew it would. 

I don't think you did. It's probably more of a blow to you. 

You thought for so many years that you truly loved me. It was beautiful for both of us, your blindness. But in your sleep you told me the truth, what you yourself didn't even realize. 

I suppose I've cried enough tears, alone, when you weren't watching. You never knew. I'm sure you still don't. 

Strange. You're more upset about all of this than I am. 

Your voice is choked when you finally speak. "Meryl…" 

"It's all right," I say simply. My hands are clenched around the quilt of our bed; I force myself to relax them and smooth it out. "You know you can tell me anything." And you have, you've told me everything. 

I love you more than anything, more than my own life. You are my breath, my heart, my soul. And you know this. 

You turn slowly, your perfect, ageless cheeks stained with the tears of an angel. I wonder idly if you see the wrinkles that have gathered at the corner of my eyes, my lips. Maybe that's why. After all, she'll never get any older. Only I will. 

Your lips part, warm and pink, and I smile faintly. How many times have I kissed you? How many times have I whispered your name into those lips? How many times have I wept my love for you only to have my tears be kissed away? 

How many times have I heard those lips murmur her name? 

You lick them now, nervous, though really, you shouldn't be. You've survived everything. At most I will just be another scar. 

I try to look encouraging, though I'm sure I fail. But I am meeting your eyes, seas of green and blue and gold. 

Filled with tears. 

Now I look away. This is not as easy as I had hoped. There is a thickness starting at the back of my throat that I did not want to be there. 

"I… it's hard to explain…" You're scared. Afraid of me. 

But I'm afraid of you. Of this. I realize it suddenly, like a bucket of cold water being poured over me. I'm drowning in it, in this fear, this cold sensation of emptiness. 

And just as suddenly, it's gone, and I know that I must be the adult here. 

"Sit down," I say, and my voice manages to sound comforting. Just last week I was mistaken for your mother when we went out of town to get some spare parts for your beloved motorcycle. You manage to crash it at least once a week. Angelina III. I always thought it was such a silly name. 

Obediently, you sit. I feel wizened. How old must I be to be your mother? Two hundred years old? A thousand? 

I want to reach out and take your hand, to press small gentle kisses into your palm, but I resist. "Vash. You can just tell me." 

You do not look at me. Silence clings to you like a web, sticky and white. The thickness in my throat is increasing. I must not let it show in my voice. 

"Please. Vash." 

You bow your head slightly. The pattern of the carpet intermingles with the light dying from the window. Your shoulders are slumped. "Meryl…" 

I wait, knowing the words that will come to your lips before you yourself do. 

"I… I can't do this anymore." 

I am silent, grateful that my heart hurts, that I can feel something at least. 

"It's… over." 

Final, firm. Pained. 

There is nothing in my voice except gentleness. "I'll leave tomorrow morning. I have somewhere I can stay." 

You barely nod, then stand, sudden, and exit the room. There is a slight breeze from your passing that washes over my face. 

The room still smells like you, warm and soft and sweet. 

I smile slightly, knowing that you will be happier eventually, that when you die, you two will be together, and happy, and I move slowly onto your side of the bed. I pick up your pillow gently in my arms, then bury my face into it. It is soft, and I can smell you more clearly here. 

This way, you won't be able to hear my muffled sobs. I don't want your pity. It would be unfair. 

By morning, the pillow will have dried. 

And I will be nothing more than a memory to you.   



End file.
